How I Found Meaning In My Baby's Short Life

The year was 1983. That June, Sue and Jerry Hipple welcomed a baby boy into the world. It was a season Sue will forever remember as "the summer of Timothy." Her older children, ages 6 and 8, had just gotten out of school for the summer when Timothy was born. By the time they went back, nine-and-a-half weeks later, Timothy had taken his last breath.

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"We had all the ups and downs of raising a normal child, except they were a little more dramatic than usual," Sue says of the struggle she and her husband endured in trying to keep their infant son alive.

"We had good hours and bad hours, laughter and sorrow. All of the tears and the laughter that go into raising a child were crammed into that summer," she explains.

A Strange Premonition

At the time Sue was pregnant with Timothy, procedures like amniocentesis (the testing of amniotic fluid to determine chromosomal abnormalities) were relatively new. Even ultrasound imaging, which had been around since the 1950s, had only recently become popular in the states. "Everything was optional," Sue recalls.

Even without medical indicators, Sue, a devoted Christian, felt like something might be wrong. "During my pregnancy, I kept coming across stories and meeting people who had had babies with problems," she says.

But Sue had an easy delivery with only a half-hour of labor and, although her newborn was on the smaller side and his lips were blue, doctors said everything was fine. Then, that day in the birthing room, she saw something: a vision of Jesus holding baby Timothy in his arms. "I thought, OK, that's kind of strange. But I did not realize how important that was until time went on," Sue remembers.

Sue and Timothy, 3 days old.

Courtesy of Sue Hipple

'An amazing will to live'

The newborn's seemingly good health worsened overnight. The next morning, doctors called in a pediatric heart specialist from a neighboring city. It was a Sunday in June, Father's Day. A helicopter picked the cardiologist up on the golf course before stopping at the hospital to take Timothy to a more advanced medical center for surgery.

Sue later learned that the doctor had told her husband not to worry about driving too quickly to get to the medical center; they did not expect Timothy to survive the helicopter ride.

But Timothy hung in there, undergoing two surgeries by the time he was 10 days old. Doctors weren't sure what was wrong with him. They finally diagnosed Timothy with tetralogy of fallot, a rare condition caused by four different congenital heart defects, after the second procedure.

For Timothy's one-month birthday, Sue knit miniature boxing trunks and matching boxing gloves. "He was a little fighter," Sue recalls. "Babies have the most amazing will to live."

That August, doctors made a last-ditch effort to save Timothy: open-heart surgery, this time armed with the knowledge that they were dealing with tetralogy of fallot. It was a risky procedure. "We knew he was either going to be better or he was going to be with Jesus," Sue says.

'He never could have lived'

Timothy passed away on August 24, 1983. He was nine-and-a-half weeks old. An autopsy revealed that he couldn't have lived a full life. Looking at Timothy's organs, the medical examiner was shocked that he had lived for as long as he did.

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"He was a joyful moment in our lives," Sue says.

Over the years, Sue found ways to honor her deceased son. Each Christmas, she would donate gifts to children the same age he would have been. She was fond of newborn babies, perhaps because she had lost one, and was constantly knitting hats for the babies of friends and acquaintances.

"His life, it was for a reason," Sue reflects. "He is still affecting people and still affecting change."

Furthering his legacy

In 2014, Sue learned about the American Heart Association's "Little Hats, Big Hearts" program, a campaign that promotes heart-disease awareness by giving crocheted and knitted red hats to every baby born at participating hospitals during February. She knew she had to get involved.

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Courtesy of Sue Hipple

She remembered the association's thoughtfulness from decades earlier: During Timothy's last surgery, the organization sent volunteers from its parent support group to speak with Sue and Jerry. "They were so kind and wonderful, answering our questions and encouraging us. It made us feel like we were doing the right thing, that we were doing the best we could," she says. "You always doubt yourself."

Timothy would have been 33 years old this year. Sue has knit as many red hats — complete tags that read "Knitted with love...In memory of Timothy Jerald Hipple" — in his honor.

Somewhat serendipitously, 33 is the number of Chicago-area hospitals that will participate in the campaign this year, including, for the first time, the one where Timothy was born. In all, 302 hospitals in 33 states will give hats to more than 47,000 infants born this February.

American Heart Association

American Heart Association

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American Heart Association

American Heart Associaton

The adorable head coverings start conversations: Everyone wants to know why the babies are wearing them. The hats come with packets of information on heart disease, which is still the leading cause of death in the U.S. (Likewise, congenital heart defects are the most common birth defect in the country, affecting approximately one in every 100 children.)

More than three decades later, Sue is at peace knowing Timothy's life and death were not in vain. His legacy, in part, is about heart defect research and finding better testing and treatment. Whenever one of Sue's hats prompts a discussion about tetralogy of fallot, she's achieved her goal — someone cares, someone wants to hear Timothy's story.

"His life, it was for a reason," Sue reflects. "He is still affecting people and still affecting change."

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